The Bodyguard
by FantasyMother
Summary: What can a human do when vampires are in danger?  No, the human isn't little Bella Swan, but a hulking man who's managed to traverse the meanest streets to keep his celebrity charges intact.  Is it that much harder to protect a vampire?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N This is dedicated to... well, you know who you are. This is serious business.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

"Goddamn it!"

He slapped at the mosquito, grimacing when he lifted his hand and saw the smear of blood left behind. Whether it was his blood or the insect's last victim, he didn't have a clue. The forest was hot and muggy, and the relentless buzz of insects assaulted his ears as he took his fingernail and irritably flicked what was left of the bug off his arm.

Taking a deep breath he rose from the rotten log that had been his perch for the past hour, brushing remnants of bark and dirt and beetle dung from the back of his jeans. This job may pay a shit ton of money but there was no question about it – it sucked.

There was a time he's have jumped at the opportunity to get away from the streets of LA, away from the crazies and pierced and tattooed and even better, away from the celebrities that paid so well for him to guard them while ignoring the alcohol, the drugs, the cheating, their belief fame and illusion and money meant they could do or be whoever the fuck they wanted.

This didn't include The Boy. He'd watched him grow from being a good kid to the beginnings of a good man. Dean nodded to himself, thinking back to those days. It was a pleasure to keep the insane away from him, to help him try to lead the normal life he craved, to protect him and his budding relationship from the worst of the worst.

Slapping at another mosquito he smiled. The Boy was on his own, back in the UK with his lady and his family, local cops believing they could keep an eye on them both. The Boy had given him his freedom, promising employment was the only thing that ended, that the friendship would last forever.

But now The Boy didn't know where he was… no one but his employers knew he was buried alive in the ass end of Washington State. No one had a clue he'd been hired by a local doctor to protect his son and daughter in law.

He was now bodyguard to Edward and Isabella Cullen, and it was serious business.

The call came out of nowhere. Some dude with the ridiculous name of Jasper Whitlock had called and asked to meet with him. _Who the hell named their kid Jasper?_ It was a name that made him think of the deep south or the Appalachian Mountains, so Dean was shocked to open the door and find himself shaking the cool and steady hand of a young guy in expensive clothes. The face was intelligent - blonde hair, the oddest eye color he'd ever seen but a comfortable smile on his face. Dean let out a breath and let himself relax – this looked like a real job and not just one more ploy to meet the man who guarded The Boy for years.

Yeah, there was a lot of that – too fucking much time wasted driving all the hell over LA only to find a group of giggling teens at the other end of the meeting or, even worse, a passel of pudgy and middle-aged women who'd be a whole lot more interesting to him if they weren't reliving their youth. They were the older cousins of Tiger Beat teens who forgot to grow up.

No, this Jasper wasn't anything like that. The two men sized each other up, both sitting at the same time, leaning forward, hands clasped in front of them.

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><p><strong>AN Yes, there will be more. No, it won't be quite a drabble, but to make this work (around work) the chapters will probably be short. And yes, I will finish Collapse the Universes.**

**I was inspired to do this for all the unsung heroes out there, and for the few who are actually sung. This is serious business, with tongue firmly planted in cheek.**

**Get your minds out of the gutter.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Back at the interview... it's all serious business.**

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

"_This guy smells funny,"_ Jasper thought, making sure he maintained his poker face.

Not that he smelled bad, Dean had obviously showered before he left for the interview. His skin still had the caustic scent of Octagon – a manly and serious soap. No, that wasn't the issue. The man simply didn't smell… _human._

Not that it didn't mean he _wasn't_ human, a ton of modern medications could result in a change in scent. His heart was beating, his blood was flowing, his brow was sweating in a subtle, serious way. But Jasper was a strategist, a skill he hadn't had a chance to use in decades.

Unbeknownst to Jasper, or maybe beknownst to him since he was supposed to be able to read emotions whenever the plot called for it, Dean was starting to get irritated. Jasper's silence wasn't just a pause in conversation, it was a _tell_… the first clue that no matter what he was told, it wouldn't be the entire truth. People thought Dean was a good bodyguard because he was a huge, imposing figure. What they didn't realize was he protected his charges by being able to read people, to be observant beyond the norm. He could tell which mob was merely a bunch of silly fans and which person in that mob needed watching.

Some might call it a talent. Given a deck of cards and a week's pay, and he'd have this Jasper thumbing it back to wherever he called home, his pockets empty and his car a memory. Not that he'd actually do it, but he could.

Flexing his fingers Dean leaned forward a bit. "You asked me to come here to discuss a job. Let's talk."

Jasper smiled, it'd been a long time since he met someone straightforward, serious, all business. Setting aside the scent issue for a moment, taking a moment to give thanks he didn't smell like one of the dogs…

Speaking of dogs, he still couldn't believe the terms of the treaty Carlisle negotiated with those rank furballs. A treaty should mean both sides gave something. In this case, the treaty meant the Cullens couldn't step foot on their land, but the mangy mutts were allowed to go anywhere they damned well pleased. That's not a treaty, that's giving away the store. Jasper knew bullshit when he saw it. The family could take that pack of puppies apart and still have time to take down some local game. Carlisle was a nice enough guy, but sometimes Jasper thought he was a few grits short of a bowlful. If he'd been a part of the southern vampire wars they'd all be whistling Dixie and Maria wouldn't be stopped until Aro himself decided to get his lazy ass off his throne and come visit the Colonies.

Speaking of which, Jasper made a mental note to email Bill and Eric when he got home. He really wanted a set of those mechanically operated fangs. Play time with Alice…

While Jasper thought he was wool-gathering at vampire speed of light, Dean was gathering his legs under him, ready to stand and leave. That subtle movement pulled Jasper out of his reverie, catching Dean's eye and switching on his emotion detector, finally noticing his guest was losing patience.

Well, the plot called for it.

"Dean, I asked to meet with you because word has it you're the best. I mean, you've managed to keep that Ro…"

Dean held up his hand. "No names of past clients. Yes, The Boy was a challenge. Not him, but handling mobs of girls and women required… finesse." He took a deep breath and looked Jasper straight into those bizarre-colored eyes. "Our business right now is why you called. Talk."

Jasper nodded, appreciating the opportunity to finally talk to someone who wasn't moping, taking down grizzlies, working as a country doctor, strutting and bitching, shopping, or decorating a house. Dean would be a breath of fresh air.

"Okay, here's the deal. My… brother is a newlywed, and he and his wife live in an isolated cottage. Being newlyweds they tend to be… er… " Jasper hesitated. His mid-1800's upbringing warred with his attempt to act like a 21st century man. Normally this wasn't a problem because the only people he ever spoke to was his coven… er… family. But Dean needed an explanation, or at least part of one.

"Fucking like bunnies, are they?"

Good man. Jasper sighed and nodded.

"Yes. You won't be the first line of defense, just the closest. I'm counting on you to stay within 50 feet of their cottage and watch for anyone who gets past us."

"Us?"

"My family will be patrolling further out." This was the only way Edward and Bella would agree to it. A human wouldn't have vampire hearing, giving them at least the semblance privacy.

Dean leaned back and took Jasper's measure. There was more to this than this pretty boy was saying.

"Who am I protecting them from, the Mafia?"

Jasper suppressed a grimace. "Something like that."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N This is still for "you know who you are."**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

Jasper stood in the doorway of Carlisle's study, also known as _"the room he goes into to do God knows what and people have to ask permission to enter."_ No one else in the family had a study, but Jasper allowed himself to acknowledge Carlisle's age and the human era he'd been born into. That was about as much as Jasper was willing to give…

Carlisle was sitting at a huge, leather-covered desk, an ancient tomb in front of him, his reading glasses pushed down to the tip of his nose. How his vampire eyes could manage to read past all the lens imperfections that would be glaringly obvious to his powerful eyes was anyone's guess, but one of Carlisle's few enjoyments in his centuries of life was playing games, and playing the aging game was one of his favorites. Right now they were starting to hit the 5 year mark in their current location, and that meant Carlisle's eyesight had to shows signs of failing. Esme had a case of internet-ordered cans of "temporary hair color" delivered a month or so ago, and started spraying some silver crap on his temples before he left for the hospital each day. She used the same stuff on herself – her only attempt to show any aging. Any moron could tell she shouldn't be graying out with that unlined face, but Esme didn't care. They weren't in any location long enough to care about gossip. Their only concern was making sure the gossip didn't make its way back to Italy.

Speaking of which, back to the reason Jasper was standing at the study door, and Dean, the bodyguard, was tapping his foot, his arms crossed over his chest, growing impatient down in the living room. It's not that Dean wasn't a patient man – patience had to be part of his makeup to manage the hours of crowds and protection while still remaining alert. It's just the problem was, Dean wasn't working right now. He was still in "finding out what the hell is going on here" mode, and meeting another member of the family for their stamp of approval was pissing him off. Royally.

Pulling out his iPhone, Dean started checking flights to London. If he was going to have downtime, he'd prefer it in a pub with friends – and this particular job was going nowhere fast. But his attention was caught by the conversation taking place two stories above him.

"_There's no way he can know what we are, is there?"_

"_How could he, Carlisle? For all he knows, we've simply hired him as a bodyguard for newlyweds, and if I have to lead him to believe the Mafia is after them, I have no issues with that."_

"_Shhh, he's downstairs, Jasper."_

"_Not like he can hear us."_

But of course, Dean could hear every word. He closed the browser and stuck the phone back into his pocket. This was the job he was looking for. In fact, it looked like his charges would be the couple he was looking for.

The best part of being a large and burly bodyguard was… being underestimated. That might sound like a contradiction, but it left Dean with freedom he wouldn't have otherwise. In this case, after following The Boy for years as he fulfilled his commitment to the studio, Dean noticed the author's requirements were too precise – her obsession with detail flicking on his radar. And his radar said there was more here than met the eye. The worldwide reaction to this silly-ass story was insane when it was still only a series of books, but exploded into a level of absurdity when it was filmed. Entire college courses were now devoted to why this phenomenon took hold. That was all well and good, finding answers for why our culture appeared to be degenerating was always a wise move, but Dean believed they were all barking up the wrong tree.

To him, it could only be explained by race memory – some unconscious recognition carried in human genes that recognized these characters and caused a reaction that went far beyond the talent of the author or the actors. Not that the actors weren't good, but the material wasn't... well, it wasn't Dickens.

Dean had a feeling he knew precisely what _it_ was, what _they_ were, and _who_ was talking about him upstairs. And by finding those answers, he might also get some answers to some questions he had about himself.

A sudden noise coming from the back of the house caught his attention, the staccato tap of soles flying up two flights of stairs, the low yet whiny voice adding to the two already talking upstairs...

Dean smiled to himself. Emo was in the house.

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><p><strong>AN Dum dum dah!**

**If all goes well, tomorrow same place, similar time. This is assuming another appliance doesn't break down requiring hours of discussion and research and indecision before the replacement is ordered.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N ** **It never rains in California…**

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

Edward sat on the leather couch in Carlisle's study, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to come up with a way of grabbing Bella and getting away from this situation, from the human waiting below, from the Volturi, from this damned family. A quiet "Hail Mary" was muttered to compensate for the curse.

"Don't go all emo on me," Jasper snapped, "You started this mess."

"How was I to know she'd actually take the stories I told her and turn them into a novel? Even more, how was I to know an unknown author would get picked up by a publisher?"

It was years earlier, in the early days of the internet and chat rooms and bulletin boards, when Edward had come across a woman in a writer's forum who seemed to have potential. Edward, both bored in his late-night isolation and trying to find a way to distract himself from the cries of orgasms filling the house, started to chat with her – calling himself her Muse. She had once complained to the group that she could find no inspiration in her suburban life and so Edward, thinking it was harmless enough, started emailing her – firing off ideas that he hoped would get her creativity going. Little did he know she'd take what he told her – which was literally about real vampires as opposed to the human myths – and turn it into a love story starring… him.

Now, Edward thought he had it all under control. Jasper's friend Peter, after decades of nomading his way around the country, had grown bored and so grabbed Charlotte and moved to Boston, taking a job with a publisher. After a century of two of living one tends to at least master their own language, so Peter's impeccable grammar and his ability to read at vampire speed made him a natural hire. As luck would have it, he heard about this manuscript floating around the industry and after he got over his surprise he contacted Edward.

Edward, with a look on his face that rivaled his shock in Breaking Dawn's pregnancy-discovery scene, contacted her agent and, under the cover of a shell corporation, tried to buy the manuscript. The publisher, who had been vacillating about putting money into an unknown author, perked up its ears and realized they may have more than they thought, and counter-offered. After weeks of bidding Alice approached Edward and told him to give up – they were willing to sell everything they owned to get the rights – and all Edward had left was damage control.

And so, this young first time author got the highest advance on royalties in the history of publishing. People who know how these things work still scratch their heads, wondering why.

When the first book was published the entire Cullen clan hid in a cave in the depths of the Denali National Forest in Alaska. It was a well-decorated cave, but a cave nonetheless. Carlisle, the only one who'd ever been to Volterra, and therefore the only one who could be tracked by the notorious Demitri, separated from his mate and distanced himself by visiting their cousins, which meant he spent most of his time fighting off the advances of the Denali sisters instead of practicing medicine. Esme spent her time searching for ways to sharpen her hard-as-steel vampire nails.

After a year of best-selling status (making the editor-in-chief at the publishing house crow over his impeccable powers of intuition) and no word out of Italy at all, the family finally regrouped and moved south, back to Forks where they'd lived before because hey… why not make it easier to find them?

Carlisle and Esme played the parents, Emmett, Rosalie, Jasper, Alice, and the ever single Edward enrolled in High School. They all blamed Edward for this turn of events as they sat through, for the 25th time, a high school teacher's interpretation of Hamlet.

Carlisle had known the Danish prince. He was a bore.

And Edward blamed himself, which was fine with him. Self-loathing had reached the level of a dedicated hobby.

Meanwhile, back at the Italian ranch…

Aro was furious. If fury could have a name, it would be Aro. His first inclination was to fill caskets with earth from the basement of the castle, hop a ship and sail to the shores of Washington. When Caius reminded him that was already done by Stoker, Aro took a deep breath and spent his days pouting, trying to come up with something equally dramatic.

And then a funny thing happened. The entire, outrageous mess started working to his advantage.

You see, Volterra, along with the rest of the Italian economy, had been taking a hit. And the harder things became for the good people of Volterra the more those people started doing what those worldwide have always done when times got tough – they looked for a scapegoat. Now, in their case, they had one very handy. People stopped turning away from and actually started looking at the castle perched in the middle of their town. Mumblings started about the rich bastards in the gray-to-black robes who only came out at night and on cloudy days.

However, the Italian shit hit the fan one summer day when Anna Maria Castellano, a toothless octogenarian who still enjoyed overcooked calamari, was gumming her squid while leaning on a pillow-covered windowsill, watching the world go by and praying for a breeze. While fantasizing about the days she still had teeth she noticed one of the monthly tourist buses pulling out of the square and, as chance would have it, while Anna Maria was watching the bus hit a pot hole and the jolt caused a red-haired wig to fall off the head of a manikin sitting in one of the bus seats.

Anna Maria started, hitting her head on the top of the window when she shot to her feet, almost choked on the still-intact piece of calamari, and hobbled off screaming for her son, Joseph, rubbing her head and ranting about the ways of the world while cursing like a sailor. The mumbling in town grew louder and even reached the level of the old men sitting and drinking demitasse with anisette in their private club.

The private club was a pork store but everyone knew you didn't go in there to buy pig products.

It was the mumbling of these old men that started to worry Aro. Word reached him there was talk, after decades of keeping the police from entering their town to investigate the tourists that always seemed to go missing after their last stop in their lovely village, that they were finally going to let the cops through the gates.

This was bad – very bad. Aro had spent centuries living in that castle. He couldn't imagine the number of boxes he'd need for moving – even with his vampire brain.

And so, while Aro was distracting himself from the inconvenience of certain discovery by trying to come up with a suitably melodramatic way of offing the Cullen clan, a funny thing happened. Tourists that weren't on his dinner menu started flocking to Volterra, anxious to see the town, to see the clock tower where young Edward was supposed to step out into the sunlight, thereby exposing them all. Euros started flowing, eyes turned from the castle and Anna Maria - who had taken to standing in the middle of the square and screaming each day about the demons amongst them - had finally choked on one piece of calamari too many.

Aro paid for the funeral.

So the truth of the matter was, Aro was happy, and everyone was happy if Aro was happy. The only problem was, unbeknownst to the rest of the Cullen clan, including one soon to be Isabella Cullen, Edward had continued his correspondence with the author who started all the trouble and let it slip, through one of his "stories" of course, that Isabella Cullen, ne Swan, was a shield.

And while he was at it, he also let it slip that Jasper could read and influence emotions, Alice could see the future, and he could read minds.

Aro, knowing there was far more truth than fiction in this series of books, decided he wanted them all – as was his right as the self-proclaimed ruler of all Vampiredom. He'd start with the newlyweds. If Aro knew anything, he knew newly mated vampires. She'd be shielding nothing and he'd be reading nothing, for years, that wasn't the lines of her body. They were the easy target, and then he'd worry about the others.

All of this was the last straw for Rosalie, who grabbed Emmett by the ear, did her best to think nasty (i.e. lewd) thoughts at Edward, and headed off to Isle Esme to air out the house.

Their biggest advantage was gone. The guy who was as big as Felix was on another continent, which was why Dean was cooling his heels in the living room of the Cullen home, waiting for this story to return its focus to him.

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><p><strong>AN Yeah I know. I don't know where this came from but hey, here it is. Tomorrow… I rest.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Pre-Christmas housecleaning sucks, but had to dust myself off and continue this. And yes, I know it rains in California. My oldest was born in San Diego. I decided to hang around and watch.**

**See below for added explanations for some of the obscure references.  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

Smiling with satisfaction, Dean returned the iPhone to his right back pocket, reaching into the left to remove an ancient, and slightly dented, pewter hip flask. He'd just received a Tweet from Fantasymother, letting him know the next chapter was almost done and he was back in as the star attraction. Giving the flask a shake he scowled to himself, he'd have to have another shipment sent up from Louisiana. He hefted it in the palm of his hand, estimating the weight of the contents before removing the cap and taking a couple of long pulls before sealing it and stuffing it back into his pocket. He managed to lick the incriminating remains of the dark red liquid off his lips before the entire Cullen clan walked into the room.

All were present and accounted for except for Rosalie and Emmett, of course. They were busy airing out a house. Esme understood that was code for the upcoming need to replace every stick of furniture in what used to be her personal retreat – again. Getting furniture to a remote island in the middle of the Atlantic hundreds of miles off the coast of Brazil was a pain in the ass, but with Alice's help, the purchase and delivery of anything was possible. If the family didn't know better, they'd think Alice's special vampire talent was conspicuous consumption.

Esme gave Edward and Bella a sideways glare and, for the 287th time since their return from Brazil, Edward shrugged and looked contrite while Bella tried to blush. Bella had spent her entire human life apologizing by blushing. In fact, blushing was her answer to everything when she was uncomfortable – apology, embarrassment, anger, shock, lust... Freud would have had a field day analyzing her. Unfortunately, as a vampire, her attempts to use her old defense mechanism just left her looking constipated.

Back in the living room of the rather conspicuous Cullen Mansion… speaking of which, one would think Carlisle might have overheard the speculation at the local hospital about the doctor who adopted beautiful and quite obviously, _"of age"_ women while also adopting stunningly handsome and also, _"of age"_ young men. In the hospital break room, that the good doctor never lowered himself to grace with his presence, he was affectionately known as the Hugh Hefner of the _any port in a storm_ sexual preference variety. Had he known this was being said about him, he might have been the first vampire in vampire history who died of embarrassment once he got past the nanosecond of considering the possibilities and wondering if he could talk Esme into wearing leather.

Bella wasn't the only one Freud would find interesting. He'd probably move right in and make them his life's work – for as long as it lasted. Come to think of it, that might not be long.

/Ramble

Although Dean managed to get the last drop of that ruby red liquid off his lips before they entered the room, as he anticipated, they all froze. Well, almost froze. Nostrils flared, starting with the set closest to him, and then there was a virtual stadium wave of flaring nostrils as the scent moved through the air on the light breeze, hitting each of them along the way. If the wave of flaring nostrils wasn't enough, they all ran an arm over their mouths in the same synchronized way, wiping excess venom that had started to leak down their chins. And once more, as if on cue from an invisible Busby Berkley, eyes grew round and wide, one by one, until everyone in the room, except Dean of course, looked like models for those big-eyed children paintings that were so popular in the 60's and the 70's. Dean gave an internal shudder as he remembered them. They were almost as bad as Elvis painted on black velvet, although it was possible the dusty portrait currently hidden in his attic was worth some bucks. He'd need to ask The Boy and his Lady – they were into antiques and all that retro shit.

Even better, he might gift them with it. He could imagine the look on The Boy's face then reconsidered. Knowing the kid, next Christmas might find him the proud recipient of Crunchy Frog, or Frog a la Peche. Even worse, it might be Peche a la Frog.

Looking around, Dean gave himself an internal shake and focused on the "people" around him. Dean prided himself on his self-control, and also prided himself on those skills of observation so eloquently detailed earlier in the story. He was right, they were exactly what he thought they were.

Edward held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Dean. I'm Edward Cullen."

Dean grabbed his hand and squeezed, enjoying the look of puzzled consternation laced with the grimace on Edward's face from his unexpected strength. He didn't look like The Boy, but there was something about him that reminded him of the kid. Edward was stiffer though, even stiffer than The Boy's portrayal of him, but he had a feeling that given a few hundred years and the right motivation this Edward might learn to loosen up. Course, being able to have a pint or two might help. Dean knew he wouldn't even if he could talk him into it, and would only result in Edward quickly, and discreetly, running into the woods, removing the poker from his ass, and throwing it back up.

_Hmm._ Dean immediately thought, and immediately dismissed, the thought of selling the upchuck as a special microbrewery beer. He could call it Edward's Everlasting Vampire Vomit and the girls would buy every drop in stock - not only squealing over the idea of consuming something their Edward had consumed, but each secretly hoping it contained enough venom to transform them. Dean briefly imagined enough drunk girls to make the often-jailed producer of _Girls Gone Wild_ rage with jealousy, and then dismissed that thought as well. Summit had that merchandising clause in his contract, Dean was still a gentleman when it came to potentially underage and naked girls, and above all else, he reminded himself, this was serious business.

As for Edward, he found himself thoroughly puzzled. This large man, obviously intimidating to humans, was nothing like any human he'd met before. His heart beat, he had blood flowing in his veins, but there was no mistaking the distinctive scent of iron-rich blood on his breath. Speaking of which, he couldn't believe how wrong SM got it – in spite of how much he tried to tell her it was the iron Bella should smell, she insisted on making it copper. Humans didn't have copper in their blood – that was Vulcans.

Eyes wide in panic (again) Edward looked to the heavens and muttered a silent prayer that Fantasymother wouldn't make this a cross-over Star Trek fic.

Fantasymother had a moment of temptation before she decided it would be too cheesy - not that she had many objections to cheese. Dean pulled out his phone and sent her a quick text, promising a bouquet of flowers for that decision. The Spock ears could stay safely tucked away in his night table drawer.

That's when Dean noticed the portrait of Anna Maria Castellano, in all her toothless glory, hanging over the fireplace. Taking a step closer to examine the painting, he groaned when he noticed the old lady, portrayed as she had ended her life - flapping her gums, sucking on squid, and screaming at any who would listen to her while standing in the middle of that famous fountain in Volterra - had pointy ears.

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><p><strong>AN Do not be surprised to see various and sundry references in here to things like Monty Python, Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, and more than one reference to True Blood and The Southern Vampire Series. There are some who say Twilight is… er… nevermind. Just be happy I never really got into Anne Rice.**

**And don't be shocked to see references from the 50's through the 70's. There are reasons I mention I'm one of the oldest women writing this stuff. I've got a kid older than The Boy.**

**Edited to add...**

**For those who are confused, Dean is Robert Pattinson's real life bodyguard. The references to "The Boy" are simple - it's Dean's name for him on Twitter.**

**This fic is written in his honor, since he once mentioned there weren't enough bodyguard fics out there. Yes, he reads fic. So, this is my crackfic endeavor to remedy that situation.**

**Crunchy Frog was a Monty Python routine where they're confectioners being interrogated by the Ministry of Health. It seems the Crunchy Frog candies really did contain frogs. When asked why the bones were left in them, their response was, "Well they wouldn't be crunchy otherwise, now would they?"**

**Frog a la Peche and Peche a la Frog was a Peter Cook/Dudley Moore comedy routine. They're discussing a restaurant where both items are the stars of the menu.**

** Frog a la Peche was a large frog served with a peach in its mouth, covered in sweet sauce.**

** Peche a la Frog was a large Peach and when you cut it open there are thousands of squirming tadpoles inside.**

**They didn't understand why the restaurant was failing.**

**Watch for future chapters where I shall try to somehow work the dead parrot in. Monty Python. Google it :-)**

**Oh yes. Busby Berkley was a director of early musical films. He was known for aerial views of elaborate scenes of synchronized dancers and swimmers. They were very cheesy, but very impressive. You rarely see them aired these days, but when I was a kid (when our TV's were carved from stone) you'd often catch one on a Saturday afternoon, or on the late show.  
><strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N And so my married daughter says, "Hey, Mom, why don't we do Christmas Eve at my house this year, and we'll drive up the next day to your house for Christmas dinner? "**

"**Sure," I reply.**

"**And, will you make and bring your great pizza?"**

**Sigh.**

**And so… lest I leave those in LA breathlessly waiting, here's a little one. Off to slice more sausage… **

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

"Hey, Pops."

Dean could hear the sigh coming through the phone, and grinned. Ruffling this guy's feathers had become a hobby. Who else could Dean phone when he was on duty in a quiet place, bored, and knew that no matter what time of day or night he called, he'd be up and ready to answer his phone?

Dean's grin widened, waiting for it…

"I have yet to give permission for you to use that crass, American 1950's-era term with me. In fact, if I remember correctly , and you know I do, I specifically told you not to refer to me in that manner. You _will_ respect your elders."

Dean rolled his eyes. You see, no matter how old you were, eye rolling was still fun – especially when done over the phone so the other party couldn't see you.

"I assume you've taken employment again?" There was another dramatic sigh. "Why don't you simply come home?" There was a pause – dramatic, of course. "She's been asking for you again, and you can't deny how lovely her…"

"This is serious business," Dean interrupted. No matter how many times, or how long he'd tried, he still hadn't convinced this guy that he wasn't the center of the universe, and that cold, grey stone wasn't his idea of comforting decor.

Dean waited, phone held to his ear while he toed the dirt around his feet. It was a childish move but there were times the child came out, no matter how old you were.

And he continued to wait. The old guy had yet to learn telephone etiquette. He was probably glaring, assuming Dean could see it. As smart as they all said he was, Dean had, years ago. easily concluded the guy was a moron. Not that he'd utter that word out loud, of course. There were some bad-asses around him – although none quite as bad as himself. However, he hated to get his clothes dirty.

Finally, after at least 15 minutes of silence and probable glaring Dean decided to take action.

"_Ciao_, same time next week," he mumbled, and hit the end button. Before he put the phone away he sent a quick text to Bill, and waited. When his phone vibrated he smiled and slipped it back into his pocket. He should have the shipment by Fed Ex tomorrow, and not a moment too soon. That flask was getting too light, and there was no way he was going to go the way of the Cullens. Besides, he liked his eye color just the way it was.

Dean paused before turning back towards the Cullen mansion, checking the electronic display on the battery pack hidden inside his jacket pocket. 87% charge left – should last long enough, he thought, turning up the volume just a bit. They thought he was out checking the layout of the grounds, so it only made sense that they'd expect his heart to be beating a bit louder after a jaunt in the woods, right?

* * *

><p><strong>AN Da da dum….**


End file.
